Faking Happily Ever After
by Micky Moon
Summary: ON HIATUS/AU: For the sake of blackmailing her, he'd gladly become her knight in shining armor. —Juvia/Gray


_one_

With a resounding thud, his back hit the wall, sending cracked bits of cement flying everywhere.

The beaten boy slowly lifted his head, which felt heavy, painful. No sooner had he blinked back the pain and opened his eyes than a fist flew straight into his face. The boy groaned, struggling to get back on his feet when a hand yanked the tip of his chin upwards.

Eyes concealed behind a pair of dark shades stared at him. He couldn't quite discern the expression the eyes held but knew, for certain, that it was anything but friendly. The grip the hand had on his chin tightened into a pinch.

"Gray Fullbuster," the man with sunglasses said, "you dare mess with Oracion Seis?"

Gray didn't reply, his breathing erratic. A deafening buzz rung in his ears, making it harder to concentrate. His silence, however, furthered his assaulter's impatience. Balled fists punched his gut, eliciting a scream and groan from him.

"Now, now stop." A female, wearing a coat with way too many fake feathers, stepped up, pushing the man with glasses aside. "Don't hurt the poor boy."

"Boy?" The male sneered. "Boys grow up fast, Angel. They all do. And when they do, they become cocky. Too cocky. As if their world is changing too quickly for them."

Angel, the woman with the feathery coat, folded her arms, scoffing. "Stop telling everyone your sad backstory, Racer. No one cares."

Racer bristled. "That attitude! You would go nowhere in life with that attitude."

"I'm in Oracion Seis. How much more nowhere would you want me to go?"

"Hey watch it! I'm here!"

"You lovebirds..." The bickering two looked away from their conversation, turning to the boy who regained a bit of his strength, consciousness flooding back to him. Light barely trickled through the narrow gap between the buildings overhead, spotlighting the top of his head as though his time had come. "...make out when you don't have an audience."

"What?!" Angel riled while Racer shook his head disappointedly. "Gray, Gray. If only you had stayed unconscious longer..."

But this wasn't an action movie, where all good and bad were black and white, where the hero could recover from injuries, where the villains would eventually be apprehended.

Gray struggled to stand on his quacking legs. He fell.

There were only monotonous grey, grey, grey. Heroes were weak, weak, weak. And villains—

Racer chuckled lightly at the sight, cracking his knuckles.

"...let's get this over with quickly, okay?"

—were everywhere, everywhere, including inside of him.

—

The sky's dark, midnight blue matched his mood, as Gray staggered up the rusted red stairs which led to the side of the building where his apartment door was located. With every step, his joints ached and wobbled. Pain shot through his body. He nearly retched backwards, his body dangling dangerously away from the stairs.

"Fuck," he barely managed to let out, eyes blood shot and voice coarse. "They really meant business, didn't they?"

The image of his assaulters came to his mind as he decided that climbing up all those stairs was too much work on a normal basis, let alone when he was as torn and tattered as he was. He sat down, trying to ease himself on a stoop only for his arm to give way. His butt came crashing down.

"Fuck!" It was then that he laughed, ignoring the immense agony that came with the simple action. It was so suiting, so appropriate. To laugh while feeling pain. It was a sentiment which felt so right; he couldn't have it any other way. What did it even mean to laugh without any other feeling? It would then become a hollow one, for the happiness in laughter was only temporary, if not elusive. Laughing more merely maximizes the pains of reality afterwards.

Laughter was a morning dream, hazy and within reach for a fleeting second before disappearing from the memory for good.

Then, a bloodcurdling scream sounded in the silent air, plucking Gray away from his submerged thoughts. Originating from his apartment, the shriek ranged from great volumes, evoking such agony upon the reaching a higher note.

With great difficulty, the boy got up and sprinted for his apartment, flung the door opened and ran to the innermost room of his apartment. The screams grew louder and louder until Gray reached the front of his room where the screams became unbearable. This room was locked with three padlocks; it took much time for Gray to fumble for his keys and insert them into each key hole, a small hissing produced when he finally got the door fully unlocked.

He staggered into the room, eyes scattering for the screamer. The screams at stopped by now, its cause sat in the middle of the tiny room, which was littered with papers, scattered in random piles.

"Gray!" The screamer greeted, raising a hand to wave. "Welcome home!"

His lips parted a deformed smile and he breathlessly sank to his knees, numb by now from the pain his injuries gave him. It didn't stop him from crawling over to the screamer, who sat cross legged few feet away. Letting his head fall on top the screamer's side, Gray closed his eyes momentarily.

"Yes. It's good to be home. Lyon."

Lyon, a white haired young man in his late twenties, grinned toothily at his younger brother. He reached to ruffle Gray's hair, and Gray tried squirming from his touch, refusing to be treated as a pet.

"But our Gray's hair is so silky soft!" Lyon protested when Gray didn't allow him more than the first touch. "He's definitely getting all the girls at school, isn't he?"

"Yes," the boy grinned, "I definitely am!"

"But don't be a player otherwise the girl you're serious with won't take you seriously."

"Oh I'm pretty sure she doesn't take me seriously."

The older male gave the younger a sympathetic stare and pat on the back. "There, there. If you need help with getting a girl, just ask Ultear for her opinion as a girl when she comes back."

Gray stilled at his brother's words; the smile on his face suddenly become hard to maintain. "Y-yeah." He struggled to say. "I will."

Unable to sense his discomfort, Lyon nodded, satisfied.

Swallowing back surging feelings, Gray rubbed the back of his neck. "Say, it's pretty warm in here isn't it? Let's turn on the air conditioner—"

"—it's seventy degrees," Lyon pointed out, "the weathermen in the morning said so."

"Well you shouldn't believe all that is said on TV." Gray's eyes scanned desperately for the air conditioner, finally spying an abnormally bulky box hidden under piles and piles of paper. His hand reached to swat away the mess but was smacked away by his brother's hand.

"—stop," he said, "it's cold."

His brother's eyes locked on his with profound intensity, hiding hurt feelings both of them shared because of the same person but of different relations; the person was a lover to one and a sister to the other.

The clock hanging above the doorway chimed then, indicative to both men of Lyon's bedtime. Lyon turned away from Gray to the only furniture in the room; a king sized bed, which appeared out of place in the already cramped room.

"I'm sleeping!" Lyon unnecessarily announced, "good night!"

Swallowing back his pain—both physical and mental—Gray nodded, smiling thinly. "Alright. Good night."

He got up and turned off the light, lingering by the frame of the doorway to gaze at the sleeping silhouette of his brother's figure. Lyon had always been a sound, quick sleeper. After a few minutes of reassuring his brother's sleeping state, Gray closed and locked the door.

—

He plopped down the couch when he immediately reached the living room. Exhausted, he laid his head down on a pillow, finding it incredibly uncomfortable compared to his brother's—and even _her_—shoulders. Looking around the room, he lamented the emptiness of it. It was a larger room than the one Lyon was in but held less. There was only the couch he laid on, a coffee table in front of it, and three photographs, facing on their back, hanging along the walls near the door.

Oh, how could he forget the air conditioner? He strode over to turn it on and as the rusted machine beeped and rumbled its way to produce cool air in the goddamn hot, stuffy apartment, the doorbell rang.

Racer and Angel, and other underground gang members, were the first he thought who could possibly ring at his doorbell this late at night. But even gang members had a class of their own, disliking turning a person's house upside down unless it was absolutely necessary. Still, they beat him up pretty badly today.

"Was it a warning?" Gray mused. "Usually they would go away after they give me a bruise." Even Gray was aware how sad his situation had become; for him to have reached the point he was _friendly_—or at least, remotely—with his debt collectors.

The doorbell rang again, leaving his musings unsolved. He reached for the nearest item he could find and slammed open the door, holding the object dramatically.

"You will never have me alive—!"

The person who stood before him was neither Racer nor Angel. In fact the person didn't belong to a specific gang member. This five feet four woman was _way _less terrifying and agonizing than any other gang member he'd have to encounter—

"—_Gray._" Her tone was flat and face unimpressed. "What are you doing? Do you seriously think you can attack someone with _that_."

He looked at the object he was holding and sweat-dropped to see it was a pillow. He took what he said back. This woman was _way _terrifying.

"Gray, Gray, Gray," she shook her head. "What should I do with you?"

"Hey, that should be my line," Gray pouted, trying to redeem any pride he had left, "what's a young woman like you going to a _man's_ house so late?"

"It's eight o'clock."

Blinking, Gray took a step back to look at the clock in the living room. The hands read eight o'clock. "Wow, that's it?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, mademoiselle," Gray bowed theatrically, swinging his arms in a gentlemanly, welcoming way. The blonde woman rolled her eyes, brushing past him and seating herself on the couch. Closing the door after her, he approached her, noticing, for the first time, the white colored first aid kit she carried with her. He pointed at it.

"What's that for?"

"Your wounds," she replied. "Every time I visit you, you're always covered with wounds."

Tilting his head to the side, he felt a prickly sensation at his arms and remembered that it was wounded. "Ah, this? This is nothing. I just have to—"

"—come here." His arm was forcibly wrenched downwards, pulling his body towards the floor. He was forced into a crouching position as the blonde woman, who was rummaging through the first-aid box, held captive his arm. "I'll tend to it."

"But—"

"—no buts."

His upper lips became more pronounced, forming a pout. The woman ignored it, working diligently at her handiwork. Instead of feeling insulted of being ignored, Gray couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks a lot Lucy!"

"I should get more than thanks," the woman muttered bitterly but even she couldn't help a small smile form on her face. When she was finished, she released his arm, turning to clean the mess she made. "Don't get it wet immediately. Leave it on for a week."

"Alright!" He helped clean up when they were done and in a few minutes they were back to sitting on the couch, side by side, in silence.

"So how's college?" Gray asked.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Terrible. I don't understand anything in economics. You mind helping me out sometimes?"

"Of course! If I can be of any help, just let me know."

"You know it's a shame that you're not going to college. You're way more smarter than me."

"And you know, it's a shame that the three time winner of the countrywide story writing contest is majoring in business, when throughout all her life she sucks at math—"

"—I get it," the woman looked irritably at Gray, who smirked. "You know why I wasn't able to major in English."

"Yeah, yeah. Your father. How is he anyways? I haven't been able to visit him lately."

"Oh you know. The usual. It's a good thing you don't visit him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You sneak him beer, Gray. Beer. When clearly alcohol poisoning is what hospitalized him in the first place."

"Hey, I can't help it if he's offering to pay."

"Offering to pay?" Her voice was mixed with incredulous and disgust. Her brown eyes zeroed on him with fierceness. "Kami-sama. _When_ will you grow up?"

She no longer was talking about her father, as Gray could clearly tell. He dropped his own silly expression and donned one of complete seriousness. "What do you mean?"

"You're kidding, Gray. _You're_ kidding." Lucy appeared eager to pull at her hair; her hands balled tightly the bottom of her dress. "I know your mother's death hit you hard and since then you've been getting into fights but fuck. What would Ultear say if she was less busy? Does she even know what you're doing? I can't believe Lyon isn't saying anything either—"

"—Lucy," his tone was dry, crackly, poisoning. "_Fuck_. Off."

Seeing that she went too far, Lucy dropped the topic and the two were submerged in steamy, angry silence. The hissing of a working air conditioner filled the air right next to Lucy. She shivered and reached to shut it off.

"Stop," Gray said, stopping her from shutting it off. "It's too hot in this place."

"You're kidding? It's so cool outside that with an AC on inside, it feels like freaking subzero."

"As if I care. It feels hot to me."

Lucy looked exasperated, gaping at Gray. "You're way too stubborn for your own good, you know that right? If you have a problem then—"

"—speak for yourself," Gray intervened, "you have a problem of meddling with everyone's business when you have a bunch of problems of your own. See how your father turned out—"

A slap on his cheek cut him off; the impact leaving a red handprint and creating an instant, but loud noise. His eyes widened and he dared not to look in Lucy's directions until he heard her got up.

"I'm leaving."

He slowly nodded, turning to see Lucy slipping a rectangular box by the coffee table. When she caught him staring, she explained, "I purchased the game you modeled for. It was...fun. More fun than when I'm around you, that's for sure." And with those words, she left.

He didn't move an inch; his eyes never left the spot where she stood before. She was definitely mad. _Definitely_. But her anger was reasonable. Knowing her since elementary school should've made Gray more prudent with his choice of words. But that was the thing with knowing people for so long. People became used to each other. So used to that they would hurt those who were closest, dearest to them first, unintentionally or not.

Gray scratched the back of his head before growling in frustration, hating himself for lashing out on Lucy. Even if he had to deal a lot, this didn't justify dumping it all on Lucy, who also had her fair share of problems. Since they started high school, her father's company became bankrupt and incurred an enormous amount of debt which drove them to poverty. Her father spent his unemployed days drinking until he had to be hospitalized. To this day, he remained unemployed and hospitalized. Forced to grow up at a young age, Lucy spent most of her time juggling both school duties and her part time job.

Gray helped her as well, giving her lessons whenever possible. But despite Gray being more capable of studying, it was Lucy who went on to college, majoring in business, which dealt with areas of studies Lucy was weakest in.

Because of this, Lucy remained bitter to this day, partially blaming herself for taking up his time from his studies and partially blaming him for not making time for himself. She thought he wasted his own intelligence in physical fights, which he never came out scott-free.

There was, of course, a reason why he became involved with fights, despite knowing how weak he was in combat, a reason which Lucy didn't know and Gray would never bother to tell her.

Why would he if she had so much going on for her?

He finally got up to grab a blanket and pillow to sleep with on the couch. Rummaging through the closet, he let the contents spill on the ground, grabbing what he needed upon sight. He plopped on the couch with the pillow and blanket.

Ever since Ul's death, his bedroom was too uncomfortable, too stuff to sleep in. He sat up to crank the temperature of the air conditioner lower. He settled back down.

At first his mind was buzzing with flurries of angry thoughts: angry thoughts about Lyon and his mentioning of _her_, angry thoughts about Lucy and her impatience with him, and finally, angry thoughts about _her_ and how _she_ was the cause of all their trouble. It was _her_ who left him and his brother in this state. It was _her_ who he had to throw his future away for. If _she_ ever did return, he would definitely give her a piece of his mind…

…and then most likely back off since _she_ was just as scary, if not _more_, as Lucy. A small grin snuck on his face as the memory of him and Lyon sneaking cookies before dinner elicited an over-the-top angry fit from _her_. _Her_ brown eyes would flame and small lips formed a vicious snarl. _She_ would chase after the two boys while Ul would watch the noisy scene with motherly happiness, laughing at them.

It was back when everything was simple. Before they started to grow up and _she_ started to put on cerise colored lipstick (which Gray never thought _she_ needed; she was a natural beauty without any makeup) and Lyon started to have disruptive feelings (which Gray didn't blame him for having).

Fatigue started to eclipse the nostalgia brimming in his mind and as his memoires finally caught up to _that_ fateful evening, his tired eyes shut close.

—

_His eyes were completely hypnotized by the swirling flames, licking the decaying building. Red and orange gnawed at the monotonous grey of the building—it looked as though he could be chewed too, as though just one step forward, he would be minced into several bits. For some odd reason, the idea came as a pleasant one to him and he took a small step forward, forward to the fire that took on the appearance of a flock of birds, flying free…_

_Ah…how much he wanted those wings—_

He bolted straight up, a layer of sweat forming visibly on his skin. His heartbeat was rapid, random and deafening.

No matter how long ago, he could still vividly play the scene in his mind. He could still smell the charcoal burning intensely in the air. He could still hear the deranged screams of her sister, begging the factory owner to save their mother. Worst of all, he could still see the flaming fire, wildly swaying the air to ensnare a victim—_him_.

He felt his lungs fill with smoke and he got up, cranking the air conditioner even lower. Panting, he looked groggily towards the couch, knowing he was in no state to sleep soundly now.

"Fuck…why can't I sleep..?" He murmured.

How could he when there was a chance he would have to relive that memory again?

Scratching the back of his head for something to do, Gray spied a pink box by the side of his computer desk and was reminded by his friend's words.

_"I purchased the game you modeled for. It was...fun. Funner than being around you, that's for sure."_

Well, if it was more fun than him, then that was good. He went over the computer, opened the box, and inserted the CD. Anything was better than his nightmare—

—or so he thought until a girly, catchy song blared through his speakers, chanting, "_Living happily ever-oh-so after~! Living happily ever-oh-so-after~!_"

To make matters worse, Gray had to sit through endless of fairytale-esque sequences, most of which featured him in all those embarrassing clothes Gray had wished he didn't have to wear. It brought back the painful memories he suppressed; those grueling hours long work shifts which compromised greatly his pride as a man.

But _hey_, a hundred thousand dollars for an hour a week photo shoot was an incredible deal.

But now Gray could see why he was paid for so much as there were tons of embarrassing activity the player could do to the prince—er, _him_. Including...

_"Hehe! Stop that tickles!"_

"Hey," Gray frowned, half blushing at the embarrassing state his character was in and half upset at the inaccuracy. "I don't have a tickle spot there..." He then looked at his own self, a hesitant finger hovering over the tickle spot. Finally gathering the nerve, he raised his arm, brushed a finger from his free hand over his arm pits. He impulsively elicited a giggle.

"_Hehe—_fuck_,"_ realization dawned on him how his response matched so much like the one in the game, both with its feminine intonations. "How the fuck do they even _know_ that?"

Despite feeling oddly creep out from the game's precision to real life and the fact that customers, girls _he_ didn't know, were having a thrill at playing with him—albeit a _2D_ version—the young man continued to play, becoming more and more addicted as the clock ticked by.

It wasn't until around the twelfth hour did Gray notice. "Fuck. I'm having fun doing…_me_?"

—

He woke up to the sound of his doorbell ring repeatedly and a female voice shouting his name. His eyes cracked opened, squinting at the morning sunshine which streamed through the Venetian blinds.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat upright and stretched, his back feeling sore from sleeping in a sitting position. Playing an otome game all night was clearly not a wise choice.

The doorbell rang again and he glared tiredly at the door. It definitely wasn't Lucy after how they fought last night. It could only be some gang members.

"Oh goodie," he thought, not even bothering to grab something with him, "my death is today. That's great. Take care of yourself, Lyon. Good luck to you, Lucy. And go to hell—"

He reached the door, one hand scratching his back, the other twisting the knob. He cracked open the door an inch and was about to pop his head when the door opened wider from the other side.

He was hit in the head, sprawling backwards from the impact. "Ouch!" As he massaged his sore spot, he peered to see who his guest was.

A blue haired petite woman stood in front of him with a basket filled with goodies in her hands.

Gray blinked. _Who is she?_ "Uhm...can I help you?"

"Good morning Gray-sama!"

Well, she clearly knew him. But he didn't know her. _But wait..._sama_?__  
_  
"Uhm..."

"Good morning Gray-sama!" The girl chirped again, this time, thrusting the basket into his chest. "Is Gray-sama ready to start his life with his one and only princess, Juvia?"

…_what?!_

* * *

Word Count: 3,958

* * *

A/N: Yes, yes, this chapter was so gloomy and intense (well, I hope it was intense, haha). Rest assured, the next chapter will definitely be light hearted with more characters introduced including some side pairings, _wink, wink_.

I really did have a fun time writing this though. Probably because I'm a serious writer by nature but it was loads of fun making each introduced character come alive and coming up with their interactions. I hope this story to be my most vivid story yet, which means I'll pay most attention to this (yes, I'm probably one of those writers who are known for their lack of dedication so whatever I say will have no effect).

Nevertheless, I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it. Let me know through a review, follow, or favorite how you feel!

Thanks a lot of reading!


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